


Did You Think It Was Real?

by clickyourheels



Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: ADHD, Angst, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Homophobia, Like literally everyone is Depressed, M/M, Mental Illness, Mental Institutions, Mentions of Rape, Nymphomania, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Pyromania, Schizophrenia, Self-Harm, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickyourheels/pseuds/clickyourheels
Summary: Welcome to Springfields Care Centre for Young Minds! Here at Springfields, we take pride in our care and priority for our young people. Based in Chelsea, London, our rehabilitation centre is known for its progressive mindset. We believe boys and girls shouldn’t be separated into different wings and instead we are all grouped together; like one big family! We treat our patients with respect and dignity and believe in equality and the right to be heard, so needless to say, it is of utmost importance that we take full responsibility and care of those in our residence. So, if you have a loved one who you believe is in mild danger to others or themselves, of if you believe you yourself may need a respite, please do give us a call and our trusted receptionists will listen to your story. As always, stay safe, and stay happy!
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Jade Thirlwall, Perrie Edwards/Jesy Nelson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chaptered fic I have ever written, and whilst I have done my research, personally I have never been in rehabilitation, so my knowledge may not be completely accurate, so please notify me if I make any mistakes. 
> 
> Also, this story is probably going to be be pretty dark, it deals with a multitude of issues and though I want to make them feel as authentic as possible, I can promise there will definitely be some lighter moments. Warnings will be placed in the notes section at the beginning of each chapter. Please be wary of tags, and if any of the fore mentioned topics are triggering to you, please be careful and don’t put yourself in danger.
> 
> I’m really excited about this one, so please DM me on Twitter, @_lovelikeharry if you have any questions/suggestions about upcoming chapters!

Louis was fucking pissed _off_.

He really _didn’t_ understand why he was being driven to a fucking mental asylum for fucks sake. Well, ‘Care Centre’ the leaflet read, but Louis supposed it was the same thing. He didn’t remember too much about his past week, ~~month~~ but his memory of that morning was clear as a fucking window.

—————————————————————

“Louis!” His mother began, jaw locked in place and finger wiggling in front of his face which, hey, rude much? Her brow was screwed up in worry or contempt or whatever the hell it was that was occupying her thoughts at that moment. Louis wasn’t too sure nor did he really care.

“I gave you chance after chance but this is it, Louis! This is the last straw. I rang the care centre.”

“You did fucking _what?_ ” Louis seethed, hands shaking from anger and lack of energy at the same time. Louis didn’t quite understand how that was possible.

“I didn’t _want_ to, you know,” his mother cried, pulling at her hair and allowing Louis to see the veins that protruded from her hairline. “You left me no choice. I can’t help you anymore, baby. You scare me everyday. The things you do to yourself, they’re _killing_ me!”

Louis let out a hollow laugh, “They’re killing me, too.”

“This is what I’m talking about! You can’t just say these things to your own mother! It’s appalling! Sometimes I wonder if you really do want to die.” She broke off her own words with a sob as she covered her quivering mouth with the back of her hand, shaking her head in disbelief. Louis watched on, unfazed by her outburst. He probably should care more about the fact that he didn’t really care.

“Sometimes I wonder too.”

—————————————————————

So, that brings him to now. He was currently being driven 3 hours to Springfields Care Centre for Young Minds. Louis already knew he was going to hate the place.

He was sitting in the passenger side of his mother’s beat up little Cooper. His mother hadn’t spoken a word to him the entire drive, or even spared a glance at him, choosing instead to drum out the beat of the song that was playing through the tinny speakers on her steering wheel. Louis found this incessantly annoying, and chose to tell her as such.

“Do you realise how fucking _annoying_ that is?”

Not a word from his mother, shock. Not even a hum or a scoff or even a facial expression. Louis didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved. He chose apathy, instead. There was a loose thread on his jeans and the hoodie he was wearing had lost its drawstring weeks ago. Louis mildly wondered if the people who worked there would take one look at him and assume his mother was neglectful. The thought made him laugh. It made him laugh _hard_ , until he was clutching his chest and tears were streaming down his face. At least that gaged a reaction from his mother, he saw her swallow and grip the steering wheel harder, and he noticed they were 10 miles above the speed limit.

Louis was rather affronted by the fact that his mother wasn’t allowed to visit him for the first three months of him being admitted, and instead of treasuring the last few moments with her eldest, she chose to blatantly ignore his existence. Then again, Louis had been ignoring her existence for the better half of two years. History repeats itself. Funny.

Half an hour later, Louis and his mother arrived outside of a building that loosely resembled one straight out of _Balamory_ , but not before having his bags searched and having several items confiscated. It was painted a light blue with a surplus of white windows decorating the walls. The entrance was a huge chestnut door that was probably designed to feel homely. It just made Louis roll his eyes.

“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” Louis mumbled, walking begrudgingly behind his mother, before being bombarded by a middle aged woman with mousy hair and red cheeks.

“You must be Mrs Poulston! We talked on the phone? My name is Lindsey, it’s _so_ lovely to see you,” She said brightly, shaking his mother’s hand eagerly. Her accent was so posh it couldn’t possibly have been real.

“You too!” His mother responded, her smile tight though optimistic. They were the first words he had heard her say since they left Yorkshire.

“And this must be Louis? It’s good to see you, sweetheart. Admitting there is a problem is the first step to recovery, so good job, love,” Lindsey added condescendingly. Louis couldn’t hold back his scoff, choosing _not_ to point out that actually, he was 17 and didn’t have a say in the matter.

“Um, yeah. Thanks.”

“So if you’d both follow me, I’ll show you around the home.” She made a semi awkward beckoning motion with her hand, her heels click-clacking as she led the way into the brightly coloured building. Louis didn’t fail to notice how she called the centre a ‘home’. The whole ordeal was so sickeningly fake that Louis could have gagged. Could his mother not see that it was all an act? The minute she left Louis was positive he would be shoved into a rusty prison cell and left to rot, counting down the days by scratching Roman numerals onto the bright blue walls.

The tour was mundane and long, Louis having zoned out for most of the walk, while his mother nodded along and drank in their lies and empty promises of care. The whole centre oozed capitalism and riches, feeling more like the House of Parliament than a fucking rehab centre. Louis absentmindedly wondered how far down they kept the dungeons.

“And that’s everything!” Exclaimed Lindsey, clasping her hands together and rudely interrupting Louis’ daydream. “The only thing left to show is Louis’ room, but I’d prefer to show him after you leave, Mrs Poulston, as Louis’ roommate is currently in there and we like to respect our patients’ privacy. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Of course,” Louis’ mother nodded understandingly. All she ever seemed to do was fucking nod.

“I’ll let you say your goodbyes, then!” That same fucking smile. Lindsey was fucking annoying.

She left them in what she had explained to be the recreation room. There were a multitude of instruments, as well as a pool table, a computer, and a TV. What was surprising was the fact that this room was dressed up to the nines yet _no_ patients were in there.

“I’m gonna miss you, baby,” Louis mother sighed, pushing the hair out of his eyes and looking at him with what he decided was a mixture of pity and relief that she wouldn’t have to deal with him for a while.

This time it was Louis’ turn to be silent.

“Please get better. If not for me or your brother and sisters, then for yourself. You need a bit of peace of mind I think.”

“...”

“I’ll ring you everyday, and when the 3 months is up I promise I’ll come and visit you, and maybe take Lottie with me? I think she’s old enough now.”

“...”

“Well then, I guess it’s goodbye. Good luck, darling. I love you!” She pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead and wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, and Louis counted in seconds until she let go. He counted to 17.

She looked into his eyes after she let go, almost like she was expecting him to cry and cling to her and beg her to take him with her. Louis did none of those things. He stared right back with a ghost of a smirk knowing he was breaking her heart.

A burly man gently escorted her out of the building. She looked back once, with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her eyes glassy and red. Louis didn’t see this, of course. He was already gone.

Lindsey was on the other side of the recreation room door, patiently waiting for him. She grinned at him the minute she noticed he was alone.

“Louis! I know that was probably _really_ hard saying goodbye to your mum, but these 3 months will fly by, I promise you. Now, I should probably escort you to your room, but first!” She pulled out a neatly folded timetable from her jacket pocket and handed it to Louis. “This basically tells you what we do in a day, as well as where all the rooms are. Tomorrow morning at 8am you have your first therapy session with Dr. Pinnock, and she’ll explain everything in detail, but right now I can tell it’s been a long day, so all you need to know for now is that dinner is in one hour and lasts a full hour, and after that is free time for the rest of the evening, then lights out at 10. Got it?”

Louis nodded. “I think so.”

“Great! Now, you’re rooming with Harry in room 237. He’s a lovely boy. Quite shy but very kind. But I should probably warn you that he gets nervous around strangers.”

Louis swallowed. “What’s wrong with him?”

Lindsey tutted, almost protectively. “There’s nothing wrong with him, Louis, but he does suffer from Schizophrenia as well as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. So make sure you don’t touch his things unless he allows you to and definitely make sure you don’t call him crazy.”

Fucking great. He was rooming with a mental person. An actual mental person. This was going to be fun.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They don’t like new people.”
> 
> “Who?”
> 
> “The voices.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand, second update is up! Topics noted in tags are present within this chapter, so please be mindful. Also, I’m not sure when my update schedule will be clarified, as I, along with the rest of the world am struggling with the whole Corona Virus pandemic. My upcoming A Level exams have been cancelled and I’m still trying to process it, so please be nice about updates, I’m trying to make them as frequent as I can.
> 
> Follow me on twitter if ya like! @_lovelikeharry <3

Room 237 was truly a sight to behold. _Not_. 

It was standard. Walls were painted a faded blue, because apparently Springfields was obsessed with the colour blue for some fucking reason. The room was designed for two people. Two single beds, Louis’ stripped down to the mattress. Two sets of drawers, two slim wooden wardrobes, two notice boards, Louis’ was again barren; and a shared bookshelf with the top shelf free. There was a door crammed into the corner which Louis assumed to be the shared bathroom. Oh, and on one of the beds was a gangly, curly headed boy reading some Chuck Palahnuik novel, dressed in jogging bottoms and a plain white tee. He was barefoot and Louis could see his toenails were painted mint green. 

“Harry, sweetheart,” Lindsey prompted, gingerly walking over to ‘Harry’ with a smile prominent in her tone. “This is Louis. You remember? We talked about you getting a new roommate after Ashton?”

The small boy looked up gingerly. He was softly nibbling on his bottom lip, eyes wide and book clutched between his slim hands. His fingernails were painted the same shade of mint. 

“I remember, Lindsey. It’s nice to meet you, Louis.” Harry said, offering a weak smile. He pondered for a second. “Can I go back to my book now?” 

Lindsey chuckled, shaking her head fondly. “Yes, Harry. Though you shouldn’t really be reading those. That Palahnuik isn’t really beneficial to your progress. I’m not too sure it’s appropriate. But if anyone asks I’ll say you were reading _The Great Gatsby.”_

Louis rolled his eyes, releasing a harsh breath through his nose. If Harry wasn’t allowed to read _Fight Club_ , then Louis definitely wouldn’t be allowed _The Shining._

Harry blushed shyly. “Thanks, Linds.”

Okay, Louis was beyond confused. Wasn’t his roommate supposed to be some messed up schizophrenic? Louis was fully prepared to be murdered with a coat hanger on his first night but this boy just seemed normal. Awkward, shy, but relatively normal. He also seemed quiet, which Louis definitely wasn’t opposed to.

“Right then, boys. I should be going.” Lindsey sighed. “You’ve got around 45 minutes until you need to be in the dining hall for lunch, and Harry?”

“Yep?”

“Remember Louis is new. He’ll need you as a guide, make sure you show him where everything is. He has a timetable but it’s always nice to have a friend, I think.”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, fully engrossed in his book. 

As soon as Lindsey had left Louis began to feel scared again. He realised as annoying as she was, she was the only person he semi knew. And more importantly she was the only person he knew was safe. As harmless as Harry seemed, Louis knew he was in a mental rehabilitation centre for a reason. And he wasn’t taking any chances.

He noticed in the corner of Harry’s side of the room was a guitar, painted the colours of a galaxy, with soft yellow stars etched into the wood. It was dusty, and appeared as though it hadn’t been played in awhile, but it was still propped up neatly on a stand, and next to it lay its guitar case, covered in various band stickers. Louis almost wanted to ask about it, but decided not to. He began unpacking his clothes into the wardrobe and setting up his bed with the duvet and sheets provided, thinking about the scarves, eyeliner pencil, and comb that had been confiscated, apparently due to a ‘standard cautionary procedure’. If Louis _was_ planning on killing himself in his room; death by guyliner was most definitely _not_ going to be his curtain call. He was about to cram his Stephen King novels into the set of drawers when a soft voice spoke. 

“I left you a shelf. I wasn’t sure if you read, but I figured you must since there’s not much else to do here, so…” The boy’s voice slowly broke off, Harry suddenly looking down at his chipped nail polish, cheeks aflame with a blush that was spreading to his neck and the tips of his ears. Louis swallowed.

“Um, cheers, mate.” Louis walked over to the bookshelf, fully aware of the other boy’s eyes glued to him. He didn’t mean to snoop at Harry’s book collection, he really didn’t.

“Y’know, I've never read _A Clockwork Orange_. Heard it was meant to be good, though. Didn’t realise it was that short,” Louis mumbled absentmindedly, fingering the smooth cover.

“Don’t read it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, you shouldn’t read it,” Harry reiterated, speaking slowly, though there was a trace of a smile on his face. “There’s no point. The language is all funny and made-up and you have to research all the words. And we aren’t allowed phones and computers aren’t for recreational use so you’d just be confused.”

Louis blinked, shocked at the amount of words that came out of the boy’s mouth, “Fine then, smartarse, what book _do_ you recommend?”

Harry was already walking over to the bookshelf, toes pointed inward and acutely reminding Louis of the way his littlest sister walks. 

He tapped softly at a black and white cover, gesturing with a nod of his head for Louis to take it out. 

“ _The Night Circus_?” Louis questioned, smirking softly.

“Don’t laugh. It’s one of my favourites. It just, I don’t know, encapsulates you, I guess? Takes you somewhere else. It helps me stay calm when I’m coming down from one of my episodes.”

He mumbled the last part, looking down at the ground again, and shock: the blush was back. Louis looked away, taking the book and putting it on his new shelf. He now had four books to get through before his time at the centre was up. Three King’s and one Morgenstern. Exciting times indeed. _Jesus._

“Well then,” Louis said, finally, “I look forward to reading it.”

“Shut up.”

“Um-“

“I said _shut up!”_

Harry quickly scrambled to his bed and curled into a ball, knees up to his chest and hands clasped over his ears. He muttered the same two word phrase over and over, rocking back and forth, toes curled almost painfully. It was at that moment Louis realised Harry wasn’t talking to him.

Because the thing is, what the _fuck_ do you do in that position? Rush over and try and help, and risk getting a head butt or a punch or a bite on the arm? Louis didn’t know this boy, didn’t know what he was capable of. So he decided to do nothing. He stared at him, pathetically. Still stood by the bookshelf, counting the seconds until Harry’s little ‘episode’ was over. Louis didn’t fucking sign up for this shit. Just when he was assuming his roommate wasn’t all bad he turns into a demonic demon. Which is pretty much just a demon but you get the point. _Extra demon-y._

Soon Harry began to return to normalcy. He lowered his legs until they were straight out in front of him on the bed, and his arms came down from his ears and settled in his lap. He was still breathing weirdly, taking in erratic gulps of air and blinking irregularly, as if he had something in his eye. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Harry.”

“They don’t like new people.”

“Who?”

“...”

“Harry? Who doesn’t like new people?”

“The voices.”

Okay, _nope!_ Louis wasn’t a dick by any means but he was human. And hearing shit like that would make anyone nervous.

“Oh.” He said stupidly, too afraid to carry on the conversation further. He stood awkwardly for a while, fumbling with his hands. Harry has flipped like a switch, a complete parallel to the person he previously was. Louis decided that tomorrow morning he would ask for a room change. He had been at the centre for less than an hour and he was already scared shitless. He peered at the clock, noticing that half an hour had somehow passed. He remembered that he still hadn’t seen the bathroom yet, so creeping past a motionless Harry, he all but ran into the room. 

Again, it was standard. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected, feeling stupid for expecting something like the bathroom he had at home. There was a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, a cabinet and a shower. At least the walls weren’t blue, Louis thought. But then again, beige wasn’t really an improvement. There was no lock on the door, and Louis cursed under his breath. That was most definitely a problem. 

He spent the next 20 minutes nosing at one of his books, not really taking anything, and trying desperately hard not to peer at the boy across from him.

“It’s dinner time now, Louis.”

Louis froze. He didn’t know why he was surprised, it wasn’t like he _hadn’t_ been counting down the seconds until the clock struck 6. He took a few even breaths before answering.

“Is it? I’m not really hungry. Ate a lot of snacks during the trip here,” He lied, feigning nonchalance. 

Harry looked down at him, his nose scrunched in confusion, and hey, when had he ended up at the foot of his bed?

“You should come anyway. Meet some people.”

Louis gritted his teeth. “I said I’m not hungry, Harry, alright? Just go without me.”

Harry actually looked hurt by this, for some reason. He slumped his shoulders and began to walk towards the door.

“Okay.”

Harry either decided to ignore the sound of Louis’ stomach growling, or just didn’t hear over the sounds of his own head. Either way, Louis was thankful.

Louis spent the rest of the evening asleep, trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t hungry, taken out by his slumber due to sheer exhaustion. Though he had one thought before he drifted off:

Why did he feel so guilty for lying to Harry? 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Louis,” his mother sobbed, clenching his right hand in both of hers. “Tell me. Tell me what they are.”
> 
> “You know what they are, Mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG CHAPTERS! YAY!

Louis awoke with a headache and a pang of nausea. 

As far as mornings go; he had had worse, but he also had had better. If that morning had been a TV show, it would be the type you’d watch whilst you were waiting for a better programme to come on telly. If it had been a book, it would be the sequel in a trilogy. Not great. Not bad. Preferably just a one time thing.  _ Fuck,  _ Louis was tired.

He had a momentary panic of  _ ohmyfuckinggodwhereamI?  _ But it was soon replaced by a too-recent memory, and Louis inwardly groaned, before sneaking a glance at the clock and realising that,  _ fuck,  _ his therapy session was in half an hour. He weighed up the pros and cons of just skipping the session altogether. Because, honestly, are they seriously expecting him to turn up? He was new, after all. By textbook definition he was still a fuck up. Still a lost cause. Still broken and unpredictable. In fact, it would be almost  _ more  _ normal to  _ not _ show his face. Surely they were expecting him to rebel? It was then that Louis caught sight of a brown-haired beanpole lingering somewhat creepily by his bedside. 

“What, Harry?” Louis moaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“You have therapy at 8.”

“M’not going.’

“But,” Harry looked conflicted, like half of him wanted to drop the subject and half of him was too insulted by the proposition of not following the rules that he couldn’t resist arguing further. “You really should go. Leigh-Anne will be waiting for you. If you get ready fast you can grab breakfast before you go and eat it in her office. She doesn’t usually mi-“

“Who the fuck is Leigh-Anne?”

Harry blinked, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s Dr. Pinnock. But sometimes she lets people call her Leigh-Anne. If you make a good impression.”

“And why the shitting fuck would I be arsed about making a good impression? I’m here because my mother forced me to be. I’m not here to make fucking friends, Harry,” Louis snapped with a quirk of his lips, one perfect eyebrow raised.

Harry tutted. Like, actually  _ tutted _ . Maybe one of his split personalities was a middle aged mum named Karen or Jan, “You didn’t admit yourself?”

“No, Harry. I didn’t fucking admit myself for a problem I don’t even have.”

“So how did you end up here?”

“I’m a nihilistic teenager. Just like every 17 year old in the fucking world. Yet my mother doesn’t understand my satire.”

Harry’s eyes about shot out of his head. It was actually pretty funny. Like that one dude from  _ Britain’s Got Talent  _ all those years ago.

“Something funny?” Louis quipped.

“No, s’just… you’re 17? Really?”

Louis rolled his eyes, because  _ hello? _ What was so bizarre about that?

“Is this the part where I pretend to be interested in your age?”

“I turn 20 in February.”

This time it was Louis’ eyes’ turn to bulge out of his skull, because this kid had a galaxy guitar with yellow stars on it and he painted his fingers and toes mint green and he blushed approximately 18282838 times a day and he had eyes like flying saucers and an aura that melted Lindsey’s fake grin into a genuine smile. He somehow oozed the type of innocence that would make Oliver Twist seem like Satan’s dad. And Louis was somehow supposed to believe that he was 20?

Louis didn’t voice any of this, though. He let out a breath through his nose. “You look younger.”

“I know.”

_ Beat. _

“Well goodbye then, Harry!” Louis prompted, pulling the covers over his head, trying his damndest to ignore the way his chest was clenching with exhaustion. 

Suddenly he felt something soft, but definitely present, hit his face.

“No, Louis. We’re going to the canteen and then you’re going to therapy.”

Shit. Canteen.

“I’m not hungry,” he trembled, voice quivering pathetically.

“Bullshit,” Louis pulled down the duvet to see Harry smirking at him. He realised that the things that had hit him were in fact a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, his boxers, and socks. “Get dressed and brush your teeth. You don’t have time to shower.”

Louis bit his lip to refrain from informing him that actually, he didn’t need to brush his teeth seeing as he hadn’t eaten anything in 3 days.

—————————————————————

The canteen, as Louis predicted, was filled with both girls and boys. Ah. The fucked up youth of today. Lovely. 

The dining hall was huge. Though there couldn’t be more than 50 patients in there. For a moment Louis felt like he was back at college and he couldn’t quite hold back a shudder. Harry was already piling up his plate with various breakfast foods. The smell was overpowering and Louis could taste the bile that was slowly rising from his stomach. He quickly poured himself a cup of water and some black coffee into a takeaway cup. In the space of time it took Louis to pour two drinks, Harry was already waiting at his side, nibbling at a rasher of bacon with one hand, balancing his over piled tray on his knee with his other. Louis couldn’t stand to look, and so he meandered over to a corner table, downing half his water in one go, desperately trying to chase his hunger away. It was 7:50 AM. 10 minutes til therapy.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Harry questioned through a mouthful of scrambled egg.

“I’m just not hungry,” he snapped, sick of repeating the same phrase 3 times a day. He took an eager sip of his coffee, before swallowing with a grimace. “What the fuck is this shit? It tastes like crap!”

Harry chuckled, putting his feast on hold to answer the question. “It’s decaf, Louis. We aren’t allowed caffeine.”

“What the _ fuck _ is the point?!” Louis exclaimed. 

“Some people just like the taste, Lou.” Harry said softly, rolling his eyes in amusement.

“Well they’re stupid! Coffee serves one purpose; to give you energy. Without that, it's just brown battery acid given to us as a constant reminder that we’re stuck in this shithole forever, where the idiot twat-faced staff think caffeine is one step down from crack fucking cocaine!” Louis put his head in his hands, groaning mercilessly, realising his little outburst had drawn the attention of a couple of girls at the next table, who were giving him some rather strange looks.

_ Whatever,  _ Louis thought.  _ If they’re going to stick me in a madhouse, I might as well play the part. _

“Also,” he added, pointedly, “My name is  _ Louis. _ Not  _ ‘Lou’.” _

“Sure thing, Lou,” Harry teased, ignoring the glare the other boy had shot at him. “You should go to therapy. Dr. Pinnock’s office is out the doors, down the hall, first door on the right. It has her name on the door.”

“Fine. But when I return a total zen master hippie because I’ve become enlightened and have finally found my sense of self, you will totally regret sending me. Especially when my yoga wakes you up at 4 in the morning. I hope you’re familiar with the sound of the Om, because you  _ will _ be hearing it.  _ A lot!” _

Harry snorts his orange juice, shaking his brown curls out of his eyes, “You’re such an idiot. She’s a councillor, moron. Not fucking Ghandi. You’re procrastinating. Go.”

Louis flipped him off as he walked towards the gates of hell, muttering something about a seance.

—————————————————————

_ ‘Dr. Leigh-Anne Pinnock, LPC.’ _

Seeing her name on the door sent a wave of nerves through Louis’ body. He was actually fucking  _ scared. _ She would be analysing his every fucking move. From the way he walked into the room, to the way he sat, to the way he fucking  _ sneezed, _ for crying out loud.

Well. No time like the present, or whatever.

“Louis!” She greeted him as soon as he opened the door, smiling up at him and folding her hands in front of her on her desk.

Louis was surprised. Sure, call him old fashioned, but he imagined  _ Dr. Pinnock  _ to be in her 60s, with piercing eyes and pursed lips, judging his every move and psycho-analysing everything he said in a little notebook. She was young, and pretty, and couldn’t be more than ten years older than him. She had coffee coloured skin and pretty shoulder length hair, curled neatly at the ends. Her nails were manicured with french tips, and she was wearing a light blue jumper with a cat on it. Louis almost snorted, but stopped himself, fearing she would assume he had some weird mental disorder where he thought he was a pig, or something. He also noticed the lack of notebook, and instead on her desk was a bobblehead of Grumpy Cat. Right. Normal.

“Not to sound too pretentious, but I’m sure you know who I am, especially given that my name is brandished obnoxiously on the door!” She chuckled, fiddling with one of her pearl bracelets.

Louis tried, really really fucking tried to hate her. Tried to find something that didn’t settle with him, tried to make excuses in his head about why he shouldn’t trust her, why he should just stand up and walk out, maybe knocking over her bobblehead on the way, just to prove a point.

See, Louis usually doesn’t find it hard to hate people, he’s done it his whole life. It’s easier than getting to know people, and Louis likes things easy. So he just decided one day that people weren’t worth it. Weren’t worth his time, or his energy. It’s why he can’t really watch television; he ends up hating all the characters that are supposed to be quirky and cool, instead finding them annoying and predictable. He empathises too much with horror movie villains that it scares him, because  _ fuck _ , American Psycho? That could totally be Louis. 

“...Louis?”

Louis looked up suddenly, realising that this whole time he’d been staring at the cat on her jumper, and it probably looked as though he was gawking at her tits, or something. 

“I’m gay,” Louis blurted out suddenly, his mouth forming words before his brain could stop him.

Dr. Pinnock blinked in surprise, but didn’t seem too perturbed by his moment of impulse. 

“Is that something you’d like to talk about, Louis?” She gently probed.

Louis thought for a moment.  _ Did  _ he want to talk about his sexuality? It was something he’d always known, from the first time he noticed that he was watching the guys in porn rather than the girls. He’d always been pretty content with being gay, and his mother had quickly accepted his lifestyle, choosing to politely ignore when he’d stumble in at 4 AM smelling of sweat and sex. She’d simply be waiting for him on the sofa, blanket wrapped around her shoulders and telly buzzing quietly, a mug of warm tea to her lips. She’d never say anything, but Louis always acknowledged the way she wouldn’t go to sleep until Louis came home. Louis felt a pang of something that vaguely resembled guilt, brushing it away before it had the chance to fully resurface.

“No,” Louis stated firmly. “I’m good, thanks, Doc.”

Dr. Pinnock smiled, nodding slightly, (Louis tried desperately hard not to compare her to her bobblehead.) an indecipherable gleam in her eye.

“Call me Leigh-Anne.”

“Okay.”

Louis felt hot all of a sudden, a creeping blush tinting his ivory skin under her gaze. It was at that exact moment Louis’ stomach let out a noise that could only be described as  _ primal. _

Leigh-Anne slowly raised one eyebrow, plump bottom lip disappearing between her perfectly white teeth.

She leaned forward, and a kind, but knowing smile adorned her features, “Louis, do you know why you’re here?”

Louis shrugged, “I’m depressed, sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Sometimes I feel depressed. Mum got worried.”

There was a pregnant pause where Leigh-Anne was rubbing at a coffee ring that was stained onto the wood of her desk, which Louis found kind of offensive, seeing as she was supposed to be listening to him. That was literally her job. Was he that disinteresting that even his therapist couldn’t be bothered to listen to his shit?

“Louis, the reason for your admittance is due to a multitude of….  _ reasons,”  _ she explained, softly. 

“Well, what are they?!”

“Depression is definitely prominent, but also anxiety, and self harm.”

Louis swallowed down the sick that was threatening to flow from his lips. 

“I don’t cut myself,” Louis spat. 

“I know, Louis. But self harm isn’t just about cutting, by definition it just means self inflicted harm. That’s it. This can be shown in many different ways. Pinching oneself, burning, pulling hair out, even biting.”

—————————————————————

_ “Louis,” his mother sobbed, clenching his right hand in both of hers. “Tell me. Tell me what they are.” _

_ Louis stared on, blankly. He cursed himself for forgetting to wear long sleeves. _

_ “You know what they are, Mother.” _

_ “Oh,  _ God! _ ” She cried, wrapping her trembling arms around her son’s stoic frame. “H-how did you do it? What with?” _

_ “I stole your lighter.” _

—————————————————————-

That memory was etched into Louis’ skull forevermore. He absentmindedly fingered the faded scars on his arm, wondering when exactly it was that he became so indifferent to other people’s feelings. 

“Your mother said you had burns on your arm. Burns that were self inflicted. We’re also suspicious of your eating habits, Louis. They’re rather peculiar.”

“Peculiar?” Louis gritted.

“Well, your mother said she can’t remember the last time she saw you eat. She’s also worried about your weight, and looking at you now I can understand why. No one is diagnosing you straight away, but we will be monitoring your meals. How frequently you show up to meal times, the food you choose, and how much of it you eat. That reminds me, before you leave I’d like to weigh you.”

No.  _ No! _

Louis shot up out of his seat, tears building in his eyes. All of his hard work, it meant  _ nothing!  _ He had done everything in his power for 3 fucking years to remain as small as possible, and here he was; stood in his therapist’s office, being told he was so  _ fat _ that his mother was worried enough to send him away. And it was noticeable to a woman who had known him for all of 10 minutes. This was it. This was officially the worst day of Louis’ life. Worse than when his father had left, worse than the time he’d found out his boyfriend had been cheating on him with his best friend; and far worse than seeing his mother cry at his own hand. He truly felt as though if he were to die in that instant, it would be karma for his endless glutton and lack of control. Embarrassment didn’t even cover it.

“Louis, calm down. It’s only a procedure. You won’t even be facing the scale. It’s for me to see, not you.” Leigh-Anne tried to reason, raising a hand as though to steady him.

Louis could barely see through the stinging tears that blinded his clarity. His legs felt like jelly and his brain didn’t feel like his. He felt like he couldn’t  _ breathe _ , why couldn’t he  _ breathe? _

“Can’t. B-breathe.” He gasped, spluttering on his own saliva.

Suddenly there were small but strong hands pushing down on his shoulders, steadying him, earthing him.

“Louis, I want you to push up, resist me, resist my hands pushing you down. If you feel your knees begin to buckle, allow yourself to drop, but know that it’s all in your control, ‘kay?” Leigh-Anne instructed, firmly.

And Louis did. He pushed up, creating a balance wherein he would feel the strain throughout his entire body. He felt his limbs were on fire, and yet it helped. He could feel every inch of him, and as he allowed his legs to drop with exhaustion, he realised he was simply too tired to panic anymore. He looked up at Leigh-Anne in shock, and saw she had a look of quiet despondency on her face. 

“My sister used to get panic attacks. That’s what we used to do to help her. It’s called the grounding method. It also works if you put your hand on someone else’s heart, someone who is calm, and try to mimic their breathing. It forces your brain to focus on the task at present, and almost makes you forget to panic.” She explained, sitting back down at her desk. 

“Oh,” Louis sighed, too exerted to come up with anything else. 

“Although, we should probably discuss why you became so hysterical at the thought of being weighed.”

Louis took in a few gulps of air, and forced his heart rate to stay at a steady pace. “I just. I, I don’t know. It’s just not something I like to think about. Can we not do this right now?”

Leigh-Anne smiled sadly. “If that makes you more comfortable. But if things get worse we will have to take matters into our own hands.”

Louis wasn’t sure if he was ready to know who ‘our’ and ‘we’ were.

“I think you’ve had enough one-to-one for today. Your solo therapy sessions aren’t scheduled, however if I or another member of staff notice you’re looking in need of a private chat we will organise one. I’ve printed you off a weekly schedule which shows you what activities we do each day. After this you have an hour of private study which you can use the computer room for, followed by two more hours of education, since you’re still of school age. We’ve taken into account the options you’ve chosen for A Level, so in your case, your studies in Philosophy, English and Drama will continue until your exams in the summer, where we will decide if you’re mentally stable enough to sit them.”

Louis tried to take in what she was saying but all he was focusing on was whether or not it would be really dick-ish to pretend to be mentally unstable to get out of doing exams. 

“And after those two hours?” Louis asked, instead.

“Then it’s lunch at 12, lasting until 1:30. Some of our patients with eating disorders need a lot of time to eat, hence why our dinner times are so long. After lunch is group therapy, then you will have another hour of education, then it’s basically free time to relax until dinner. It’s all pretty relaxed around here. Your days will differ, especially as you only take 3 subjects and so your lesson times will be different throughout the week, and obviously there’s no school on weekends so you can look forward to that, however there is still group therapy on those days,” she scratched her head, chewing on the end of her pencil. “I definitely feel like I’m forgetting something, but for now I think that’s everything. Here, take this, if it looks confusing you can ask your roommate and they’ll definitely help you with it.” She passed him the laminated, brightly coloured timetable and Louis took a moment to process the fact that this was his  _ life.  _

“Cheers.”

“If you’d like, you’re free to go. Private study starts in 10 minutes but there’s no use forcing you to sit in my boring old office, so take a walk in the gardens or something until it begins,” She suggested, grinning at him sweetly. 

He stood up to leave, choosing not to dwell on the fact that private study seemed really fucking boring. Oh, and the rush of blood to his head when he stood up was making it pretty hard to focus on anything else. Blame the anemia. 

“Louis?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for showing up. I can imagine it was quite daunting.”

“Um, yeah. Sorta. Thanks, Leigh-Anne.”

“My pleasure, Louis.”

So, that was therapy. One hour (50 minutes) of awkward silences, panic attacks, accidental boob staring, and unprecedented grounding exercises. Louis groaned when he shut the door behind him, cursing his inability to function as a human. 

“Hi, Louis!”

“What the- Harry? The fuck are you doing here?” Louis hissed, clutching at his heart.  _ God _ , that kid was seriously going to give him a heart attack before anything else could get the chance to kill him.

“I waited for you! I thought we could go for a walk before private study!” Harry practically beamed, shifting his weight from right to left foot excitedly.

Jesus. Louis needed a fucking cigarette.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
